A Midnight Clear
by Ink On Paper
Summary: Just a little Christmas Eve piece . . . . . Happy holidays, everyone! -Love, Kit.


**A/N: HAPPY HOLIDAYS!**

**DISCLAIMER: I only have milk and cookies.**

**A Midnight Clear**

There's bright ding and the swoosh of heavy steel doors sliding open to reveal a dimly lit squad room. The obnoxious tangerine-colored walls are not quite as garish, she thinks, under the muted illumination provided by several strands of fairy lights. In fact, it's almost picturesque, with the faux-Fraser fir standing proudly before the huge window, ice fogging the panes as snow falls silently outside. An assortment of ornaments take refuge in the boughs, a hodgepodge collection of whatever people have brought in throughout the month to decorate the office tree.

There's forty-eight glass balls in varying colors, and she knows this for a fact having donated a package of fifty and hanging them all herself (except the two she broke). And somewhere in the mess of green is an elfin warrior figure suspended from silver thread, a gift to McGee from two years past. And there's also a glass orb with Sean Connery's image as the iconic James Bond donated by Tony, of course. A glass dreidel takes up the place of honor toward the top of the tree, because that was where Tony put it so Ziva couldn't take it down –however, she smiles every time she passes the tree, dark eyes glancing up to see the tribute to her heritage . . . . A wooden golf ball and Hallmark-issued Yoda ("It was the closest thing I could find to a gremlin.") are also notable additions.

And putting a star up at the tip of the Christmas –_Holiday_- tree just didn't seem quite right, but the American flag placed in lieu of traditional toppers made a more appropriate finish.

He clears his throat and she nearly topples over in surprise.

"Gibbs!" she scolds, clutching her chest dramatically.

A smirk is playing at the corners of his mouth as he regards her not-at-all apologetically.

"Scaring people is not nice," she chastises firmly, but she can only keep the ruse up for so long before a smile breaks across her pale face. "I came to see if you wanted to go to Mass with me," she says.

"Can't," he tells gently, stepping around her in route to his desk.

"Gibbs!" And she is horrified. "You can't stay here –it's Christmas Eve! McGee's with his family –and- and Jimmy's with Breena! And Ducky's with a friend and-and-and I don't really know where Tony or Ziva is, but I doubt they're spending Christmas by themselves –and I know for a fact that they aren't spending it here-" she takes a deep breath and he takes the opportunity to place his finger against her lips, watching in amusement as the words die on her tongue.

"I'm not staying here, Abs."

"You can't go home and sit all alone either!"

"I'm not going home."

She seems to brighten at this, drawing her own conclusion without him having to say it.

"Well," she says, smiling, "Merry Christmas, Gibbs." And he reciprocates the expression, pressing a kiss against her pale cheek, whispering, "Merry Christmas, Abs."

She lingers just inside the elevator a minute later, holding the doors to open with a black mittened hand. "Tell Jackson I said 'hello.'"

"Will do," he promises.

"Merry Christmas-"

_Ding_!

...

"Oh Holy night, the stars are brightly shining; it is the night of the dear Savior's birth."

The choirs' voices rise as one, filling the air with the quiet hymn she's become quite fond of. She doesn't sing along, just sits and listens with her eyes closed, immersing herself in the moment. Tilting her head to the side, she rests her face against his shoulder, the wool of his suit jacket rough on her cheek and the quiet sound of his voice singing in her ear.

The smell of incense is warm and inviting and the steady shuffle of people down the aisles is oddly comforting. A sigh escapes her as her lips twitch upward.

And she begins to hum unconsciously.

...

He hasn't set foot in this place in a year, but it nothing has changed. The stained glass windows still sparkle darkly around him because the night outside cannot illuminate them, though the internal lights of the sanctuary are surely throwing mosaic rainbows across the sidewalks outside. The candelabras still glow softly around the cavernous space and the wooden pews are still uncomfortable against his back –the kneelers impossible with his bad knee. Even the monotonous drone of the priest is still the same.

Still.

It suddenly occurs to him that she's gone very still next to him with her cheek pillowed against his arm. He glances down at the top of her head and, sensing his gaze, she looks up at him, smiling brightly. His hand finds hers resting on his thigh and their fingers entwine as he presses a kiss into the crown of her hair.

He sings along quietly with the cantors, briefly watching as people file out of their pews and into the Communion line, before closing his eyes and offering up a silent prayer.

...

She's kneeling between Sister Rosita and Sister Claire and trying to concentrate, but it's Christmas Eve and she's been wired since noon, practically mainlining Caff-Pow! and Grandma Sciuto's secret egg nog. So she peeks every so often from between her eyelashes, watching people weave through pews and bow their heads in prayerful meditation.

The newborn behind her makes a mewling kitten sound and she has to turn around to see the baby because it's so little and wearing a Santa suit and the cuteness factor is off the charts. The young mother smiles when she notices her audience of one and re-swaddles the baby. And Abby goes to return her attention to the front when the couple toward the back of the church catches her attention.

She wouldn't have noticed them if they hadn't been the only two left in their pew, but they are and she does. And she is both pleasantly surprised and shocked by their presence.

Tony's wearing a clean suit and new tie and his eyes are closed and she knows he's praying. And then there's Ziva, tucked into his side, lips forming the words of O Holy Night. Her hair falls in straight waves over her shoulder and her Star of David pendent lays against her sweater and her eyes, too, are closed and she is probably praying as well.

And she thinks that this surely is a Christmas miracle and not for the fact that the lapsed-Catholic and not-quite-orthodox Jew are at Midnight Mass, but simply because their spending Christmas Eve together.

Sister Rosita's elbow finds Abby's ribs and the latter faces the Alter once more in proper chastisement, readjusting her veil and folding her hands obediently.

...

"O night when Christ was born. O night divine."


End file.
